


The Sound of Silence

by Lucky107



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unsung hero speaks loudest through words unspoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> The Sound of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel - 1964

"What were you _thinking_?"

He was thinking about Elizabeth Short—about a woman lost to the rest of the world and tomorrow, soon forgotten.

He was thinking about Celine Henry—about the man who gave her everything, yet couldn't save her.

He was thinking about Deidre Moller—about what that little girl's tainted life has in store.

He was thinking about Theresa Taraldsen—about how much fun they might have had, but never would again.

He was thinking about Evelyn Summers—about who would even notice she was gone.

He was thinking about Garrett Mason.

At first it was a simple thought; a name, a face. But as that thought grew, blooming into its entirety, it became the hollow shotgun blast and scattering chips of age-old brick. It became the darkness, the dampness of the catacombs below the damp earth. The smell of mold and rot and decades past.

It becomes a stony voice—a voice incapable of sympathy or kindness—echoing the hushes of his inner demons.

' _Are you acquainted with slaughter? Does it attract you?_ ' he says in the depths of Cole's mind. Cole lies awake at night, lying next to his wife in their own bed, in their own home, and his heart races. ' _Have you felt the fear? Understood the power?_ '

Did he feel temptation back then? Was he drawn to those words, as menacing as they are now? Or was it merely the fear, shaking not only his mind, but his very soul? He doesn't remember very well, but he thinks. He thinks about it a lot, really, at odd hours of the night when he finds himself lying sleeplessly awake.

And he hears that voice, as clear as crystal, just as he had on that day.

But then he thinks about James Donnelly, the Captain of the Homicide department, the world's biggest piece of shit—next only to Roy Earle, of course. Donnelly's vision of Justice is skewed, running this corrupt city into a dead-end corner, but to the will of his job Cole is forced to bend his knee to it.

He swallows down the shame like the first glass of scotch and moves on, letting it ebb away as the night grows cold and still around him.

He thinks, now, that he can understand why Finbarr—Rusty—drinks so much in this line of work. It's the only way to numb the guilt of yet another day's hard work.

Then he thinks about scotch; he thinks about the Blue Room.

He thinks about the low-key jazz and the smoke that fills the room. He thinks about the young people dancing—the men and the women—but the women especially. He thinks about all the women he couldn't liberate, couldn't justify, and the broken homes they left behind.

And he thinks about her.

At first, she was Marie.

When he walked out of that church, miraculously alive and somehow infuriated with the turn of events, all he could think about was Marie and his daughters at home. He thought about how lucky he was to have them and how much he would give to go home and hold them, to tell them he loved them.

He never made it home that night, though. He never held them, never told them he loved them.

He found himself at the Blue Room.

Why?

He thinks about his own cowardice. He thinks about the considerable risk he faced going to war—the people he lost, the people he killed—and he thinks about how little it compares to the fear of facing his wife and children like this. He thinks about the shame—the guilt, the self-loathing, the dishonor—that comes with quietly burying a monster... and he thinks about the cruelty in the world.

He thinks about the cruelty he brings to this world.

He thinks about speaking to someone—anyone—about what he saw that night, but in the end, it's futile. He can't speak—he can only think. And he thinks about how little a selfish man like himself deserves a tender, loving woman like Marie. He thinks about how little a selfish man like himself deserves the unconditional love of his children.

Those children... he owes them, if anyone, protection from this rancid city. But Garrett Mason's name is soon forgotten, just like his victims who become just another blemish on the face of Los Angeles.

How can he face his family like this?

So he finds himself en route to the Blue Room instead of his home, more afraid of himself than he is of the acts he is about to commit. Somehow, it's easier to face the unfaithfulness than it is to face the disgrace that his silence brings.

He goes to her instead—a stranger—someone who has no past by which to judge him. And for the first time in months, he sleeps soundly for a full night. He thinks about waking up in a strange place, next to an unknown woman, and though the thought should be frightening, it wraps him in foreign comfort.

Even as he drives to the Mocambo shouldering the weight of an affair, Cole feels better than he has in months.

He thinks about Elsa Lichtmann.

He thinks about a woman full of holes—so many holes—that she no longer has any room to pass judgment on others. He thinks about the way she sings—the sound of her voice in an empty room—and the soft touch of her fingertips. He thinks about the tiny punctures on her arms. He thinks about her escapism and knows there are other ways...

Yet, he cannot speak.

He only thinks.

And sometimes his thoughts just aren't enough.


End file.
